Well, guys, it's certainly been awhile since I've had any ideas to write at all. This came across me one day, and I'm sure there are dozens out there just like it, but once I started, I had to do it. Anyways, don't like don't read. I'm going to stop now because it's extremely late and I'm just going to post this anyway. Let me know what you think :)
Want
Ten o'clock sharp on a Tuesday morning and it's off to the dungeons for me, flanked by my two closest friends, who are far too busy complaining about the homework from McGonagall that they hadn't noticed the blank expression on my face. Or, perhaps, they had, and chosen to ignore it. It was most likely the former. Despite being the brightest witch of my age, so I had been told, I still had my fondness and discontentment for each subject. On the usual side, they all came relatively easy, except for one in particular.
Potions was my most liked and most hated subject, and I sighed deeply as my shoes echoed deafeningly on the stone steps descending to the classroom, followed by a now silent Harry and Ron. They, too, found irritation in this class, though they did not have a reason to enjoy it, as I did. Of course, their minds couldn't even attempt to process what was going through mine from the moment I took my place at the stool and awaited the beginning of class. Naturally, it would be quite simple, though what could make placing ingredients in a cauldron more difficult?
The answer to my question burst through the room in an angry rage, the door bouncing off the wall with a rather loud bang. I sat shivering in my seat, not out of the coldness of the dungeon, but rather out of the whirling emotions running through my mind.
Professor Severus Snape just had that power to instill a certain fear in people, or in my circumstance, a subdued feeling of complete and utter madness.
"Settle down, class," his icy voice sneered, though no one had been making any noise whatsoever. "Today, we will be making an extremely difficult antidote. Your instructions—" he flicked his wand lazily, and a white scrawl appeared in chalk at the front of the room—"are on the board. Begin."
There was a slight chatter amongst the students as they complained to their neighbors, and Harry and Ron were no exception, slumping reluctantly in their stools while gathering ingredients for the potion. As always, I reviewed the instructions before preparing myself, though this time I squinted at the eighth step.
"Professor," I called, shooting up my arm in defiance. "Professor, that's not right."
The murmurs that had been scattering through the students stopped immediately, and I felt twenty-three pairs of eyes on me, including the dark, cold ones of my potions master.
The latter set bore directly into mine, sending a shooting flame of frustration and ambition through me. "Are you questioning my teachings, Miss Granger?" he growled, with a voice that forced my soul to succumb to its prowess.
I gulped, my palms clammy, but in a determined attempt to protect myself from disaster, I struggled for the right answer. "Well, sir, I've done this potion before, and you're supposed to add the powdered elk horn before you stir it."
Each and every person, apart from myself and Snape, were completely and absolutely still, as though Petrified. His eyes narrowed in my direction and he glided toward me in a fury, midnight robes billowing out behind him. He approached my cauldron, leaned over on both hands, and glared at me with irritation in all its simplicity. "And why, Miss Granger, would you think that I, being the potions master of this school, am incorrect?" Snape's tone was almost a whisper, but it had a threatening aura about it. I shuddered.
"Well, I—"
"Detention, and ten points from Gryffindor," he said, voice seething. "Eight o'clock sharp, my office."
A wild frenzy struck me like a match igniting a wildfire; never before in all my years at Hogwarts had I been given a detention, and it was clear that the students thought so too, with all their whispering in the hopes I could not hear. My body began to tremble until Harry eased a hand onto my shoulder.
"Relax," he murmured, attempting to be reassuring, but he was no help.
"Yeah, 'Mione," Ron pitched in as he attempted to calm the bubbles that were quickly erupting from his potion. "We've gotten plenty of detentions before. About time you did too. No big deal."
Comprehending either of their statements was entirely out of the question, for I was in too deep of an emotional state to listen to what they had been saying. As if they could even begin to have a handle on the thoughts spinning around in my brain on the highest speed possible, mimicking a swarm of disrupted hornets. This was simply too much, an overflow, the limit of what I could handle.
I was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake, and I was damn well not going to let this go.
The smell of supper was pungent in the air as I stormed off to the Great Hall later that evening. My fellow classmates watched as I sat at the table with a huff, blatantly ignoring them. Evidently, Ron and Harry had recollected the events of potions class to our friends, as none of them dared speak. Feeling blunt, Ron pushed a plate of custard in my direction slowly. "Eat," he said. "You're going to need it when you're dealing with…" Harry shot a glare at him, causing his voice to trail off.
Groaning in frustration, I stood up, face flushed. "What does it matter, anyway?" I fired at him. "It's just a detention, right? With Professor Snape. What could possibly go wrong?" The sarcastic edge to my words and the apprehensive looks on my companions' faces made it evident that I was not happy. Actually, "happy" was overstating it. It was downright irksome, and there had never been a time where I had shaken this much in my life. They saw my fear, but obviously didn't know the complete depth of it.
"Hermione…" Harry began, but I promptly made an about-face and left the table, departing from the last few strains of sanity I had left. I was uncontrollable, unstoppable, freed from the innocent schoolgirl bindings that had, for too long, restrained me. Every rush of blood through my seventeen-year-old body was pumped from a longing heart, striving for its release unto the freedom that had eluded it for an endless length of time.
Today was a day for justice and redemption, to satisfy my wants, and my needs.
I grinned to myself as I walked down the hall with a swing in my hips and a bounce in my shoes. Checking my pocket-watch and noticing that it was ten minutes to eight, I made my way towards the dungeons for the second time that day. On this occasion, however, I was no to be given a lesson, but rather, teaching one myself.
Quickly smoothing out my skirt and straightening my tie, I knocked diligently on the door, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I did so. My wand bumped my hip from the inside pocket of my cloak, as if it were to say Use me if you need me. From within the room came a petulant voice, saying a solitary word.
"Enter."
I heard the door magically unlock from the inside, and I grasped the handle ever so slowly, almost in apprehension. Opening the office door, I was met with a room that could only belong to Professor Snape.
It reflected his rather bland and dark personality: the stone walls were cold and empty, with a fireplace on the opposite wall lacking any sort of life within it. A large mahogany desk took up the majority of the room, with scattered pieces of parchment upon it, each embellished with black scribbles of ink. Several boxes were stacked in the corner with potion ingredients spilling out of them, many of which I did not wish to look at, for they were quite gruesome. A solitary window was to my right, hardly allotting for any light despite the fact that there were small candles in brackets hanging from the walls.
"Are you just going to stand there all night, Miss Granger?" Snape barked from behind the desk where he sat, slamming his quill down with more force than necessary.
"Obviously not. I'd like to get on with my detention, if you please," I replied, with a face so straight that it could rival any statue in the school. My bold attempt at sarcasm had left me with a lightheaded, nervous feeling, yet it was oddly satisfying, though it apparently only made my professor more irritable.
Snape nodded curtly to himself and fished a twelve-inch sheet of parchment from a desk drawer, along with a rather bent and shabby grey quill. Pushing his ink bottle towards me, he said in an orderly tone, "Fill up this page with lines until it you reach the end. 'I will not contradict my professor' is what you will write. You may start."
I glanced at the hopeless-looking quill, to his face, to the seemingly endless strip of parchment, and back to his bitter expression. "But…but Sir, this will take all night!"
He looked up at me from his work, and from his empty eyes I could see no consolation, no sympathy whatsoever. "Does it look like I am going to sway your punishment?" he seethed, in a voice that was almost a whisper. "You were disrespectful of me, and you will pay the price for your cheek. I asked you to write lines, and I expect this sheet to be filled. Understand?"
"Yes, Professor," I replied in what I hoped what was a meek sort of tone, sitting down in a smaller wooden chair across from the desk and picking up the quill. Truth be told, I was feeling quite the opposite of timid as I dipped the quill into the midnight black ink, though of course I had to preserve the good-girl aura I had always maintained. The room was deathly quiet apart from the scratching of both our quills, which allowed me to think deeply as I wrote.
I will not contradict my professor.
I will not contradict my professor.
It was a simple punishment in its entirety. Writing lines was something that past students had done for years. To him, I was no exception. I was simply just another student in his line of teaching, another streak of annoyance for seven years. I held no position in his life except to be taught the aspects of potion-making, with only the role as an obedient student to fulfill.
And that's what bothered me the most.
I will not contradict my professor.
Snape coughed lightly and my head jerked up, the hand holding the quill frozen in place. He had taken no notice of my abrupt movements and proceeded writing away, his head bent low over the paper, greasy hair hiding his face from my view. I sighed softly and returned to my own work, trying my very hardest to ignore the steadily rising feelings of aspiration in the pit of my stomach. I was used to them now; it had taken me years to master how to control them. Still, with each quenching, they returned stronger, with more determination to win the battle against my own body. I couldn't let it happen.
The clock ticked on as I continued to inscribe the same mantra repeatedly on the parchment. My hand was soon becoming stiff from gripping the quill so tightly, knees shaking underneath my skirt, a sign of struggle against the force of desire. For such a lengthy amount of time had I played the pawn of the king, under direct instructions and simply another sacrifice on the field, worth nothing. Each day had been wasted away surrendering to his power, never being able to fight on my own. My heart pounded in my chest in anticipation, in a craze for its ambition.
No.
This couldn't be happening. I can't do this…I can't fight back, it's useless. What power did I, a simple Hogwarts student, have over the very same character that just so happened to be a fully trained wizard, more wise in all the years in education than I could ever hope to be?
I will not contradict my professor.
Yet, I want to. Oh, how badly I want to. No longer will I be modest in my little shell, with nothing to show for all the years I have ached for this. No longer can I allow myself to prolong existence without knowing what it is like to satisfy this hunger. For far too long have you teased me, taunted every fiber of my being with your hypnotic words, and it is on this day that I, Hermione Jean Granger, will have my revenge.
I will not contra—
I slammed the quill down on the table with such vigor that it disturbed Snape from his own little world without me, looking up with a glower. He glanced down at the parchment, noticing right away that I had only gone about two inches down. Despite my handwriting being small, it hadn't taken me very long, but I suppose in all my thoughts I hadn't noticed how slowly I had been writing. Snape stuffed the cork to the ink bottle in it roughly, placed his own quill down, and leaned forwards. "Get back to your lines, Miss Granger. You still have ten more inches to go."
"No."
The word came out of my mouth as fiercely as it had in my brain a few moments ago. Before I had even realized what I had said, I was standing up, pushing the parchment away from me, and glaring right back at my potions master, who was indeed driven over the brink of displeasure.
"Sit down," he growled. "Your detention is incomplete."
I narrowed my eyes at him from across the table, having a spur-of-the-moment feeling of boldness. "And what, Sir, may I ask, would employ you to say such a thing?"
"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape said in a relentless tone. "This is the second time today you have cost your house a setback. Now I encourage you to be seated once again and resume your lines before I bring your punishment to a further extent."
Running a hand slowly yet smoothly along the edge of the desk, I looked directly at him with a commanding glare, gradually making my way around the chair and table, speaking as I went. Each syllable was met with a footstep, and equal to five anxious beats of the heart. Nervous and clammy, the inner sanctum in which I had imprisoned my ambitions was in preparation for release. "I disagree," I murmured lightly, tracing the knotholes in the wood. "I do believe that I am no longer required to follow your orders." I was edging closer to my professor, though he was too caught up in his own personal fury and hatred for me to comprehend this fact. Perfect.
"Your foolishness is getting you nowhere," he spat with poison, attempting to convert me back to the seemingly docile and innocent girl that I feigned every day. But he was mistaken. Not once had I ever been timid and unwilling. It was my turn, after all these years of suffering, to be the one giving orders, to be the one forcing my power upon that of a significant other.
In one swift move, my body rounded the corner of the desk, my hands gripping the arms of the chair in which Snape sat in determination. My face was merely inches from that of my professor's. Oh, heavens, was it satisfying, making the pounding of blood in my ears echo as if there were no tomorrow. The breath from my lungs was coming quickly; my face becoming pink with fervor as I hovered directly in front of Snape.
"I am going to ask you once more to be seated," he said in a voice that was so low it was just barely decipherable. I blinked once before sliding forward a single centimeter and lowered my own voice to a whisper.
"Who's going to make me?"
It was at this moment that I did the unthinkable—and yet, it was something I had desired for years on end, something my heart literally ached for, something that would fulfill ht endless hunger deep within my tender soul.
I looked directly into the dark and awaiting irises of Professor Severus Snape, completed the gap between my face and his, and pressed my own lips against his.
There were absolutely no words to describe this moment, and yet, so many. Each part of my body was on fire, burning and igniting in a frenzy of excitement and passion. It was unlike anything, incomparable to any feeling I had ever experienced, but it was everything I imagined and more. His lips were astoundingly soft against mine, fulfilling every urge I had ever wanted. There was nothing else that mattered at this moment: not my detention, the enormous risk I was making, nor the fact that I was breaking a bond of hatred between two parties that had lasted for centuries. A Gryffindor was supposed to be brave, after all.
Despite the kiss being sheer seconds in which I felt the electricity in our connection, it felt like hours when Snape gripped my shoulders firmly with both hands and pushed my body away from his. "You dare—" he snarled in my face, "to show any sort of affection for me, Miss Granger, or to pursue such an action that is completely inappropriate? You have reached your limits, I daresay, and I strongly believe you should leave my office this instant, before I resort to reprimanding you further."
His words excited me, though I was probably thinking something completely and utterly contradictory to what he implied. I felt a small smirk creeping across my face as I backed away slightly, Snape rising to his feet. Although he was much taller than me, I could feel my breath coming shorter; I was not intimidated in the slightest, but rather, internally hysterical in a sense of anxiety. "I'm not exactly sure what you mean, Professor."
"What I am saying to you," Snape said in an almost hostile undertone, "regardless of what is running through your mind at this moment, it stops. Now. Otherwise, you will leave me with no choice whatsoever."
Again, the words came out of my mouth before I had even time to comprehend what I was saying. "Show me."
With a deep, guttural sigh, and one fleeting movement, I found myself pinned against the cold stone wall of Snape's office, almost in pain from being struck against it. He didn't seem to notice, and neither did I, due to the closeness of our lips once more. I could feel his warm breath on mine, and I was sure he felt the same. Snape's eyes sparkled devilishly, speaking words in such a hushed manner that it made my entire body shiver with satisfaction. The words fluttered directly into my ear, forcing me to close my eyes in expectancy.
"Insolent girl," he hissed. "There are things I could demonstrate, things I could say to you that could wholly disturb the mind of a young witch your age…but it appears to me that you are careless of this fact. However, though you have shown…such desirable and voluptuous behavior…you have nonetheless in fact disobeyed my orders, have you not, and therefore do not deserve any reward for it?"
A breath escaped my mouth in what could have been an anxious sigh, but it was more or less a sound of frustration. I could no longer control myself, on behalf of the fact that my mind was spinning out of control and I was succumbing to his power once again, though this time, it was exactly how I anticipated it. My aspiration to be dominant had been fulfilled, and it was time to resort back to the roles of teacher and student, to be given a lesson, now that I had initiated what it would be.
"Mmm…" was the only sound I was able to make as I felt Snape's fingers caress my cheek in an almost controlling manner, yet with a gentle feel to it overall. I could tell by the way his touch felt upon my skin that he was not going to let me off easily. Completely under his power, he was my master in many ways, one of which I was so longing to unearth from within him. It was there, I could sense it, and I coveted it.
"Do you think that you should be disciplined for your conduct, Miss Granger?" he murmured as his lips traced a line down my neck and across my collarbone, causing me to let out a soft whimper, eyes still closed. My voice was incapable of forming any more words, and in order to obtain an answer from me, Snape roughly pinned his mouth to mine once more, searching for a result. It was forceful, persuasive, causing me to feel a longing pain in the pit of my stomach as I replied with equal enthusiasm. The feeling of wonder when fulfilling one's desires can certainly be gratifying.
After several long, exhilarating, and anxious moments, Snape broke away from me regrettably, a lustful gleam in his eyes that I had never noticed. Perhaps, it had been there the entire time, hidden deep within the layers of darkness and mystery that made him so appealing. Effortlessly, with what I envisaged to be a smile on his face, or as much of a smile that Snape could possibly create, my wrists were clamped together with a single one of his hands snaked around my waist, and he spun my entire body around in one swift movement. Using his free hand, he swept the entire contents upon the desk onto the floor, ignoring the crashing of the ink bottle onto the floor. I then found myself upon said desk, face-to-face with the mahogany. Inhaling the sweet scent of the wood, my back arched as his arms restrained my own, preventing any further movements.
Oh, gods.
"I do believe that you are due for a chastisement," he said, with such sheer silkiness in his voice that it made the breath hitch in my throat with contentment. The authority he held over me that had once been my vexation was now the only reason why I was sprawled upon a desk in Snape's office, in preparation for whatever punishment he was obliged to inflict upon me. I was under his control once more, though it was no longer in a tempting manner, but at last the pleasurable one that my soul pleaded for. As my cloak fell to the floor in a rush, I smiled, yielding to the mind-blowing domination of my potions master.
I was his, and that was the only way I wanted it.